


Black Balloons

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Humor, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-27
Updated: 2008-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: How did Brian get out of that coffin after his Deathday party in 122?  This is my version.  Written for the Balloon Challenge at Moonshadow.





	Black Balloons

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: This was my entry in the Balloon Challenge at Moonshadow.  There are some other great stories there too.  


* * *

Black Balloons

“Today is the last day of the rest of your life,” Emmett is saying as I suddenly realize I’m not dreaming and I’m not alone.

I’m being forced into my clothes even though I struggle valiantly, if I do say so myself.  There are six of them and one of me, so I don’t have much of a chance.  They are my so called friends.  Except for Melanie, that is.  She’s here because of Lindsay, and because she enjoys seeing me humiliated.  And Justin!  He’s here because … he cares about me, I think.  But they’ve roped him into this fiasco and he can’t back out now.

They blindfold me, and I hate that.  I know I’m a fucking control freak, and being blindfolded makes me feel so … out of control.  They have all the power and I don’t know what they’re going to do with me.  They keep telling me I’m thirty, over and over again, as if I might forget if they didn’t repeat it every two seconds.  If they’d just kill me, that would be the best possible outcome to this scenario.

Instead, they dress me, and I am forced to confront the fact that my life is officially over.  I’m old, fucking old, I admit to myself, as they drag me blindfolded and pinned between Ted and Michael down the elevator and into a car.  Death is so much more appealing than being thirty. 

I’m crammed into the backseat of what I think is Ted’s car.  I think Ted’s driving from what I can hear.  Justin’s on one side of me and Michael on the other.  I contemplate making a break for it.  I could probably shove Justin out of the car and run away, but how fucking idiotic would that make me look?  I’m not some pussy faggot who runs away with his tail between his legs.  I can take whatever they have to dish out.  At least that’s what I tell myself, as the car speeds through the streets of Pittsburgh.  I hope I can make myself believe that, because I don’t know what the fuck they have in store for me.

We finally stop and I’m hauled out of the car.  Good job they brought Mel along for some muscle.  They lead me into some building, and finally they rip off the damn blindfold.  I glance around wondering where the fuck I am.  There’s a … a coffin, and a tombstone with my name on it and black balloons.  What the fuck!

Ted and Michael make the obligatory age jokes and I snap back at them.  I can feel Emmett doing something at my back, but I ignore him.  Melanie’s got a knife and she’s asking something.

“Deathday cake, Deathday cake?” she keeps repeating.

And then she cuts a piece out of the top of the fucking tombstone.  It’s my birthday cake.  Fuckers!  I hope it tastes like shit since they must have had to do something really disgusting with cake to make it stand up like that.

More wisecracks and comments about me going to New York.  They’re fucking jealous!  I know they are.  I decide it’s time to tell them the truth, that the job fell through.  I yank at the damn balloons but Emmett has tied them to the belt loop on my jeans.  Michael is stunned by my announcement about New York, but then he often is stunned.  Justin can’t believe it either, and the others are shocked.  They all thought I had the job and would be off to New York soon.  So did I.

I let them know that I’m not happy about the situation either, but I assure them that I can readily reclaim my position as Stud of Liberty Avenue, as well as my fucking loft.  In a show of defiance I tell them I’m already dead and hop into the coffin.  I pop one of the balloons to scare the shit out of anyone that isn’t expecting it.  It has the desired effect, and I smile, even though I’m lying in a fucking coffin.

They leave me there for a while and I contemplate what might be the best method to escape from their clutches.  I can usually brazen my way out of most anything.  Before I decide it’s time to get out of the coffin, Justin comes over.

“You okay, Brian?” he asks softly.

“Peachy!”

“Are you going to get out and have some cake?”

“Not unless it’s laced with arsenic,” I respond.

“Brian, come on, it was meant to be a joke.”

“Ha, fucking, ha!”

“Come on out.  It’s creepy talking to you in a coffin.”

“How do you think I feel being in here?” I demand.

“Let me help you,” Justin says.

“Untie these fucking balloons,” I say.

I feel him struggling with the knot.  Fucking Emmett Honeycutt!

“There!” he says triumphantly, as the knot finally gives.  He holds onto the bunch of balloons as I climb out of the coffin.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper to him.

“But…”

“It’s been a slice, amigos.  Gotta run.”  I grab Justin’s hand and race to the door.  I hear protests and comments like, “You have to have some cake” with several “assholes” thrown in.  I smile to myself as we exit the building.

“We don’t have a car.  We came in Ted’s,” Justin informs me.

“Shit!” I react.  “There’s a taxi,” I yell as I wave frantically at the cab that’s passing by.  And lo and behold, maybe it’s my birthday present, but the cab screeches to a halt.  I fling the door open.  “Get in,” I tell Justin.

He slides in and I realize he’s still clutching the fucking bunch of black balloons that he untied from my jeans.

“What the fuck are you doing with those?” I demand as he tries to pull them all into the cab.

“I like them,” he replies struggling to haul the last couple inside.

“Why the fuck didn’t you just release them?”

“I didn’t want to.”

With a sigh I squeeze into the backseat of the cab beside Justin, batting balloons away from my head.  I give the cabbie the address of the loft and turn to look at Justin.  His head is buried inside the bunch of balloons.

“Are you in there somewhere?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“How many of those damn things are there?”

“Five.  There were six till you popped one,” Justin tells me.

“Scared the shit out of someone,” I laugh, remembering the screech when I popped the balloon.

“That was Melanie.  She cut a big hunk out of the cake when you did that.”

“Good.” 

“You should have stayed.  They went to a lot of trouble to arrange all that.”

“Who the fuck knows an undertaker?” I ask.

“Ted.”

“Figures.”

Justin laughs when he hears that, and I start to relax a little bit.  But I’m still fucking thirty years old.  Nothing’s going to change that.  We ride in silence until the cab pulls up at the loft.  I go to pay the driver while Justin extricates himself and the balloons from the backseat.  That’s when I realize I don’t have my wallet.  Justin hands me the bunch of balloons and pays the cab driver.  I’m standing there like an idiot holding a bunch of black balloons.  I reach up ready to pop one when he yanks it away.

“Don’t,” he says, and I can tell he’s serious.

“Why not?” I ask.  They’re just balloons.”

Justin looks at me and I can see the wheels turning.  “If we’re going to pop them,” he says, “then let’s make it worthwhile.”

“Worthwhile?” I ask with a frown, but I let him make his way inside carrying his bouquet of black balloons.

“Yeah,” he replies as he gets himself and his treasures safely on the elevator.  We ride up to the top floor.

“What do you have in mind?” I shove up the grate and unlock the door to the loft.

“Every orgasm, we pop one,” he says with that grin that should be illegal.

I chuckle in spite of myself.  “That has possibilities,” I admit.

He scampers up to the bedroom, the batch of black balloons bobbing along behind him.  When I catch up, he’s got them anchored to the alarm clock on the nightstand.  It starts to lift off the surface of the cabinet when he lets go of it.  He grabs it and stuffs it in the drawer.  That’ll anchor the balloons until we’re done.  I watch him, fascinated by his resourcefulness and his eagerness for sex.  It’s almost enough to make me forget…everything.

“I’m ready,” he says as he turns and starts taking off his shirt.

I watch for a minute as he strips.  His body isn’t really much to look at, except for that ass.  I love his ass and the feel of his skin when I run my hands over it and the way his fingers grip my arms when we fuck face to face and the way our fingers intertwine when…  Shit!  I need to focus.  I’m hard as a rock and so is he as he skims his underwear down his legs.  He looks over at me with a question on his face.

“What’s taking you so long?” he asks.

Without another word I divest myself of the clothes they all threw on me when I was kidnapped earlier.  It’s good to get out of them.  I should probably shower, but that can wait.  I have more pressing things to do.

I advance on Justin.  He waits for me, not moving until I wrap myself around him and try to swallow him whole.  My tongue is so far down his throat it’s a wonder he isn’t choking.  I rut up against him and feel him do the same in response.  Always eager, that’s my Justin.  I topple us onto the bed.

“I want you,” Justin whispers in my ear.

“Don’t you always?” I smirk.

“Always,” he replies and I hear the sincerity of the statement.  I know he speaks the truth, and I always seem to want him too.

I flip him onto his stomach and grab a condom out of the dish on the nightstand.  I rip the packet open and pull Justin up onto his knees.  He groans in anticipation as I give his neck a nip.  I roll the condom on and rub my aching dick up and down his crack.  I stop long enough to lube us both up.  He looks over his shoulder at me.  There’s such longing and … love in his eyes.  I close my eyes against it and shove my dick into his ass.  I hear the air forced out of him, as I breech any resistance.  It had to hurt, but he doesn’t protest.  He merely leans back against me and takes all I have to give.  God, I love this boy, twink, man, whatever the fuck he is.

He’s on his hands and knees as I pull part way out.  I know he’s waiting for the next stroke and I pause to see what he’ll do.  He looks over his shoulder again with a question on his face.

“I’m going to ride you so hard you won’t be able to walk.”

“Go for it,” he replies defiantly, “but remember you’ve got four more after this.”  He glances at the five balloons.

I laugh out loud.  He’s so … wonderfully reckless.  “I can handle it if you can,” I say.

He nods and smiles.  I plunge back in.  I push his shoulders lower so I can get the perfect angle.  He starts making grunting, cooing, purring, gasping noises as I ram into him.  I love every sound emanating from him.  This is so much better than the orgy I had last night, but I’d never tell him that.

“Brian,” he gasps, and I know he wants me to grab his dick.

“No!  You’re going to come without me touching your cock.”

“I am?” 

“You are,” I state.  I pound into him relentlessly until I think we can’t take anymore.  We’re both drowning in sweat and my heart feels like it’s about to explode in my chest, when I hear him let out a strangled sound, and I know he’s coming.  I feel it throughout the slim body beneath me, and I react as his ass tightens around my dick.  My orgasm hits me like an eighteen wheeler.  I empty my seed, myself, my life into the condom deep inside him.  Everything goes black like the balloons and I collapse on top of him.

Some time later I shift and feel my dick slide out of him.  “You okay?” I whisper.

“Mm,” is the only response.

I roll off him and onto my back.  My heart’s still pounding and breathing seems to be an effort, but I feel great.  We did what I set out to do.  This is the best thing that’s happened all day.

I turn my head to look at Justin.  He hasn’t moved.  I start to say something but then I hear him mumble something incomprehensible.

“What?” I ask.

“You didn’t pop a balloon,” he repeats.

I chuckle as I grab one of the ribbons, pull a balloon down and squeeze, popping the first one of the afternoon.  Justin rolls over and looks at me.  His face is shiny and happy and sweet.  I want to grab him and hold him against my heart, but I don’t.  He does it for me though, laying his head on my chest, right on top of my heart.  I card my fingers through his hair and he sighs gently.  His arm wraps around me, and I sigh too.

“That was spectacular,” he says after a minute.

“Glad you liked it.”

“We have four more.”

“That can be arranged.”

“I know,” he says confidently.  He has so much faith in me.

“Justin, why…”

“Why what?” he asks sitting up a bit so he can look at me.  

I like his head better over my heart.  I gently shove him back down.  “I was going to ask why you took part in that birthday fiasco earlier.”

“Because it’s your birthday and I wanted to do something special for you,” he says.

“You call that special?” I ask sarcastically.

“I didn’t know what they were going to do,” Justin says, and I believe him.  “They said they were going to kidnap you, and whisk you away to a birthday celebration.  That sounded pretty good.  I didn’t know it would be a…”

“Deathday celebration?” I supply.

“It wasn’t very funny.”

“No, but appropriate.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.  I’m thirty.  And I’m not going to New York.”

“That’s great!” he says enthusiastically, looking up at me with those blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t call it great,” I tell him.  My life is a piece of crap.  “None of it is great.”

“Sure it is.  You get to stay here and we can do this,” Justin states with one of his smiles.

“You always see the silver lining, don’t you?”

“No, not always,” he says and his face turns serious.  “I’m hard pressed to find anything good about school these days.”

“They giving you a hard time?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess some of that’s my fault for outing you in the faggot-mobile.”

“Naw, they treated me much the same way before.  And they were so blown away by you that day.  I was so happy.”

“And now you pay the price.”

Justin shrugs and I know he doesn’t blame me for what happened.  He’s one of the few.  My Deathday friends are only too happy to hand me the blame for whatever happens.  I know that Michael is pissed that he’s going to Portland and I’m staying here, but it’s too fucking bad.  He needs to get on with his life, and mine is over.  My brain reminds me once again that I’m old.

“Ready for balloon number two?” I ask.

“Sure,” Justin replies with a big grin, so I crush him under me and we start round two.  

By nightfall we’ve popped several balloons, ordered in Thai food, showered a couple of times, and generally fucked away the day … literally.  It’s one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had in spite of being thirty.  And Justin’s responsible for my good mood.  He knows what to say and when to shut up.  That’s one of the best things about him, that and his ass and his smile and his big heart and…  Christ, what is the matter with me?  Oh, I’m thirty.

We go at it again, and he’s as responsive and eager as he was the first time.  I don’t know anyone else who could put me through my paces the way he has today, and he always comes back for more.  

After we’re done this one, I look over and see that Justin has fallen asleep.  I guess I can still wear out a teenager … even at thirty.  Fuck thirty!  It’s all downhill from here.  Even though Justin got me through most of this fucking day, I’m still thirty, and next year I’ll be thirty-one, if I live that long.

I’m old.  I’m not good enough for New York.  I’m stuck in fucking Pittsburgh.  My life is for shit!

I roll onto my back and heave a depressed sigh.  It’s my moment to wallow.  It’s dark outside.  This last day of the rest of my life is almost over.  I look up at the ceiling, perhaps hoping for divine inspiration, but I’d settle for a few different thoughts.  Instead, I see the last black balloon out of the corner of my eye.  We forgot to pop it.

I reach out and grab the cord, pulling the balloon down to me.  I squeeze hard with my fingers until it explodes with a loud bang.

“Wha…?” Justin mumbles as the noise wakes him up.

“Just popping the last one,” I say smugly.

“Are they all gone?” Justin asks rubbing his eyes.

“Did you lose count?” I snark.

“I’m sorry they’re all gone,” Justin says with a yawn.  He looks dejectedly at the black ribbons and the pieces of balloon I still hold in my hand.  “We should have brought the other bunch home with us.”

I have to laugh at the disappointed look on his face.  “Who needs balloons?” I ask with a grin, as I pull the ribbons off the alarm clock and toss the last remnants of my Deathday celebration towards the wastebasket.

Justin smiles that warm, soft, sunny smile that always melts my heart.  I immediately forget about being thirty and that monstrosity of a birthday party.  I forget about being stuck in fucking Pittsburgh.  I forget about my so called friends and their snide comments.  I forgot about everything except the young man beside me, as I bury myself deep inside him.

Being thirty isn’t so bad when I have this … at least for today.  

Tomorrow will be another story.  
    



End file.
